


Are Your Paws Tired? (Because You've Been Running Through My Mind)

by attackofthezee (noxlunate)



Category: Captain America (Movies)
Genre: 4 different aus shoved in a blender, Alternate Universe - Coffee Shops & Cafés, Alternate Universe - College/University, Alternate Universe - Magic, Camping, Fluff, M/M, Minor, Minor Sharon Carter/Natasha Romanov, Minor Violence, Non-Serum Steve Rogers/Winter Soldier Bucky Barnes | Shrinkyclinks, Recreational Drug Use, Recreational Wolfsbane Use, Soulmates, Werewolf Mates, Werewolf Steve Rogers, Werewolves, a made up college town in the pacific northwest, an au smoothie if you will, at least AESTHETICALLY
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-09-07
Updated: 2020-09-07
Packaged: 2021-03-07 03:22:01
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 16,499
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26346289
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/noxlunate/pseuds/attackofthezee
Summary: “You should tell me about yourself, since I’m apparently your soulmate and all,” Bucky says over the sound of clacking keys, “Where are you from? What’s your major? Any siblings? Or terrible mommy issues? Are any of the rumors about werewolves true? I’ve heard someinterestingones. These are all important to know if I’m supposed to be your destiny or whatever.”He says ‘interesting’ in a way that makes Steve blush and feel a little like he’s choking on air.“I- The rumors are- Well- We’ll get to those later.”In which Steve is a werewolf who attends the all magical Asteria University, and Bucky is his soulmate who seems to have a few secrets of his own.
Relationships: James "Bucky" Barnes/Steve Rogers
Comments: 58
Kudos: 446





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Hello and welcome to my completely self indulgent fic. Hope you like it!

When Steve had gotten accepted to Asteria University it’d been one of the better days of his life. A school dedicated to everything and anything magical? That only accepted students from the magical population of the world? A place where they could be themselves without worry of scrutiny from humans or the fear of particularly unscrupulous hunters? It sounded like a dream. 

A dream that, unfortunately, had a financial aid package that was  _ a little  _ lacking. It wasn’t the worst, of course. Historic Magical Universities did tend to be a little cheaper than their human started counterparts, but it still meant Steve had taken out quite a few loans and was working two jobs in an attempt to offset the costs. His ma tried to chip in as much as she could, but as a nurse and single mother who chose to raise her son in New York City without the support of a pack, it wasn’t like she had that much to spare. 

It was fine though. It was all totally fine. Steve had picked up more than a few different jobs over the course of his past three years at AU, though the coffee shop job had remained the only consistent one since halfway through freshman year. He’d even gotten himself involved with the AU pack, a hodgepodge of werewolves from all over the country, all united by their college affiliation, lycanthropy, and the insatiable urge to chase their tails when the full moon rolls around. 

So he’s done fine. He’s been fine. He  _ is  _ fine. Everything is  _ fine.  _

Everything is perfectly, and totally, and  _ completely  _ fine. Or at least that’s what he tells himself the first week of senior year when a horde of under-caffeinated college students come spilling through the door of Frigga’s Coffee And Tea and Loki says “Do you hear the phone ringing? I’ll go answer it,” and  _ disappears  _ into the back despite the fact that Steve has the hearing of, well, a  _ werewolf  _ and definitely didn’t hear a phone ringing. 

“I’m not sharing the tip jar with you!” Steve calls after his retreating back and then turns to greet the first of many customers with his best, fake customer service smile and best, fake customer service voice, “Welcome to Frigga’s, what can I get for you today?” 

“It scares me when you make that face with that voice, Rogers,” Natasha says, “Iced coffee, black like my soul.” 

“So you want a blended mocha with almond milk and extra extra chocolate, right?” Steve asks as he grabs a cup and writes the order on it, setting it aside for Clint to make. 

“ _ Exactly _ , this is why you’re my favorite,” Natasha says, and then, turning to the man beside her, “James, what would you like?” 

The words fade out. 

_ Thump thump _

_ thump thump _

_ thump thump _

The man- James? Is that what Nat had called him? He’s saying something, but Steve has lost the plot entirely. 

“Sorry, what was that?” 

“I asked what was good here?” James asks, stepping a little closer like he thinks maybe Steve couldn’t quite hear him. 

Steve gets a whiff of him and resists the urge to say  _ ‘you.’ _

Steve has an answer for this question. He’s given it about a million times. He  _ knows  _ what to say when someone asks, but instead, what leaves his mouth is “I, uh, don’t really drink coffee.” 

James blinks. “...You work in a coffee shop.” 

“I drink the tea. When it’s hot outside like now I really like the harvest iced. Oh, and the desserts. Frigga comes in in the morning to make them every day and there’s always new ones. The caramel apple blondie is my favorite that we’ve got today. If you like that kind of thing. Or aren’t like, vegan or allergic to anything I guess? I mean, we do have vegan options! We’re very inclusive here at Frigga’s, she’s great about that kind of- ”

“Steve- It is Steve right?” James cuts him off, glancing at Steve's nametag where his name can be seen under the multitude of stickers attached to it, though just barely. When Steve nods, Bucky continues, “I’d love the tea you talked about- the harvest one? and the blondie. It sounds perfect.” 

“Oh. Okay, yeah! Yeah, that’s coming right up. 

And then, just like that, Natasha and Bucky are paying and moving on and Steve is working his way through the rest of the wall of customers. 

When it’s done and Steve has finished ringing people up and helping Clint with the last few coffee orders he very nearly allows himself to fall over and sink into his shame. Instead, he stays upright, which is unfortunate, because it means he has to look Sam in the eyes when he leans over the counter, coffee in hand and says, “Hey, Rogers, what the fuck was that with Nat’s friend?” 

“That,” Steve says morosely, “was my mate.” 

🐺🐺🐺

So here’s the thing. The very stupid, terrible, inconvienant for all parties involved, no good, absolutely life altering thing about being a werewolf. 

They have mates. 

Yeah, _mates._ Fated soulmates. The one person they’re destined to be with for the rest of their life. _The_ _One._ Singular. Uno. One and Only. Grab it when you find it or you’ll never find it again, one. 

This isn’t a problem,  _ theoretically _ , except for if, oh, Steve doesn’t know, your mate  _ dies _ , like Steve’s dad had when Steve was a baby, or if they don’t want to be with you because yeah, being someone’s destined- fated- meant to be fucking  _ soulmate _ is a lot of responsibility for the average person. 

Especially when the person who’s soulmate you are is a werewolf. 

They’re  _ unbearable _ . 

Steve knows this because he  _ is one  _ and he’s been reliably told that he’s a handful and a half.

__ He’s already imagining stupid shit like keeping James fed and building him the  _ best den  _ and rubbing his face all over James until every inch of him smells like Steve so that every other wolf on campus or even in the tristate area knows exactly whose mate he is. 

He’s spoken about 19 words to the guy and most of them are rambling and his brain is already off the rails about it. 

_ Jesus fucking christ.  _

He thinks, briefly, about calling his mom to find out how she handled this, but talking about his dad has the tendency to make them  _ both  _ sad, a thing that isn’t always great when they’re so far apart. 

Instead, he forces the AU pack to listen to his lamenting, which is definitely a mistake. The new freshmen Peter gushes, and Nebula looks about six seconds from shifting right then and there just to escape Steve’s moaning. 

Sam has the world weary look of someone who has heard this all before, which to be fair, he has, in the coffee shop when it happened and then again, on the walk from their apartment to the pack meeting. 

“Maybe,” Sharon starts, and Steve can already feel her judgement before she even gets on with it, “You should be getting ahold of this guy instead of whining to all of us about it.” 

Nebula says nothing, but makes her ignoring Steve and his problems obvious when she stands and goes to pointedly microwave a semi-frozen burrito from her backpack. 

“Can’t I just ignore it and hope it goes away?” Steve asks, though he knows that he could never actually do that. He’s always been much more of a barrel straight at your problems kind of person.

“If you weren’t you, maybe. For a while, at least. But I don’t exactly see the point,” Sharon says, tugging Steve over until he’s more or less lying across the couch with his head in Sharon’s lap so that she can pet at his hair. Werewolf packs are strangely affectionate, and it’s something that he thinks he’s still getting used to after growing up with just him and his mother for a pack. “It’s not like a mate is a  _ bad  _ thing, Rogers. My cousin Peg? You remember her. You met her when she picked me up for winter break last year. Well, she found hers this summer and they’re disgustingly happy.” 

“Ugh,” Steve says and presses his face into Sharon’s stomach like he can blind himself to the truth. “How do you just walk up to some stranger and go ‘Hi, my name’s Steve and I’m your  _ soulmate’?”  _

“You know what this calls for?” Sharon asks, instead of answering Steve’s question, “Reconnaissance.” 

“You mean talking to Nat and finding out what she knows about her friend?” Sam asks. 

“Shut up, reconnaissance makes it sound much more dangerous. Like I’m a spy.” 

“You’re not a spy though.” 

“You don’t know that. I could be. I could be here to spy on the Asteria Pack and get all the dirty details,” Sharon insists. 

They’ve clearly moved on from Steve and his issues, which means he  _ should  _ take the chance to go get one of the cookies Peter brought to the meeting before they disappear entirely, but even while arguing with Sam Sharon’s kept up scritching at Steve’s hair, finding the sweet spot right behind his ear. It’s embarrassingly canine-esque, but whatever, Steve’s a werewolf. He can embrace it.

🐺🐺🐺

“I talked to Natasha. About your soulmate,” Sharon says, throwing herself onto Steve and Sam’s couch two days later. Steve doesn’t remember either of them ever giving Sharon a key, and yet, she somehow finds her way into their apartment without knocking on a near weekly basis. 

Steve’s starting to maybe rethink his opinion on the whole spy thing. 

“I don’t remember agreeing to that,” Steve says and shoves his laptop away from himself, deciding this is the perfect excuse to stop doing research for his essay on the ramifications of common stereotypes of the elvish community under capitalism. 

“You didn’t  _ dis _ agree,” Sharon says and digs around under Steve and Sam’s coffee table like she knows exactly what she’s doing. Which, she does. “So I took it as a yes.” 

“Fair,” Steve allows, though he does wonder not for the first time how much more peaceful his life at college might have turned out if he and Sharon hadn’t made friends immediately during freshman orientation. “So, what’d she say?” 

“Oh, not much actually,” Sharon says, emerging from her digging with a shiny green box Steve had gotten at the dollar store during Christmas time. “We got a little… distracted.” 

“Right. Is that what you two are calling it now?” Steve asks teasingly as Sharon starts loading up the pipe from the box. 

“I won’t share this with you,” Sharon threatens, waving the half filled bowl at Steve’s face.

“It’s my weed. You have to share it with me. I pay too much money for that shit.” Regular weed does absolute jackshit for werewolves other than make them tired as hell, but there’s a few green witches in the agriculture department that do something with it that Steve’s pretty sure involves a moderately safe amount of wolfsbane that lets werewolves experience college just like anyone else. “What did she tell you before you got distracted.” 

“His name is James Barnes, though for whatever reason he goes by Bucky apparently,” Sharon says and pauses for Steve to mouth  _ ‘Bucky?’  _ to himself incredulously while Sharon takes a hit. She passes the bowl and the lighter over to Steve, and continues, “He and Nat have known each other most their lives apparently, but he ended up going to Echidna-” They both share a deeply understanding ‘ _ yikes’  _ look at that, “but I guess some shit she’s not at liberty to discuss happened so he transferred here to finish up. That’s about all I got before we were otherwise occupied.” 

“You couldn’t have found out a little more during pillow talk?” Steve asks. 

“I’m sorry Steve, but the last thing I want to talk about post orgasm is your love life,” Sharon says, prompting Steve, halfway through taking a hit, to choke. 

🐺🐺🐺

The next time Steve sees Bucky at the coffee shop he arrives alone. 

He looks tired- a little frazzled even- and Steve resists the urge to ask what might be wrong or if he’s getting enough rest.

Steve even, and he gives himself massive kudos for this, manages not to preen too much when Bucky orders a large harvest iced tea- the very drink Steve had suggested the first time he was there. 

After Steve fills his order, Bucky disappears to the other side of the coffee shop, spreading out a variety of books on one of the few empty tables and pulling out a laptop to work on while he drinks at his tea and picks at a snickerdoodle. 

Steve doesn’t spend the majority of his shift watching him from afar. He  _ doesn’t.  _

“I’m gonna go check on the dining room,” Steve tells Loki when there’s a lull in customers. Loki blinks eyes that today are a disturbing bright red for reasons that Steve does not want to contemplate, but that he suspects have to do with making sure customers talk to him for the least amount of time possible, and doesn’t deign to give Steve a response, which Steve takes as a response in itself. 

Steve sweeps a little in the dining room, wipes down a few tables and in general does things that he’s  _ supposed  _ to be doing, but is really doing because as he does them, he works his way across the dining room until he’s at the table next to Bucky’s. 

“Hey, I know this might sound weird but can you stick around awhile? I’m off in like, an hour and I just- I need to talk to you about something.” 

Bucky blinks at him over the top of his laptop, but gives a short little jerky nod and an “Ok,” which is enough for Steve. 

Roughly an hour and forty-five minutes later, Steve manages to clock out. There’d been a sudden rush of customers, and Loki had been nowhere to be found, so Steve hadn’t been able to leave until he’d mysteriously returned the moment the rush was gone. 

Steve is 110% positive Loki would be fired if he wasn’t the owner’s kid. 

Luckily, Bucky’s still there. He’s packed up his things and moved to a seat closer to the door, but still, he’s  _ there.  _ He  _ waited.  _ It’s both a blessing and a curse, because now Steve has to figure out how to explain the whole soulmate thing. 

Steve waits until they’re outside the coffeeshop and heading across campus in the crisp evening air before he says anything. 

“So,” He says, which okay, is not saying  _ much,  _ but it’s still something. 

“You wanted to talk to me?” Bucky asks. He seems wary- guarded, almost- his eyes flicking around them, the arm that seems to be made of metal and magic whirring quietly as he shifts. 

“How much do you know about werewolves?” Steve asks, shoving his hands deep into the pockets of his hoodie. It’s the time of year when the weather doesn’t quite seem to know whether it wants to be fall or not, so instead it just tricks you into thinking it’s going to be warm during the day and then gets freezing at night. 

“Uh, the basics I guess? They’re born or bitten, turn into giant wolves on the full moon, and tend to come in packs?” He sounds unsure, like he’s answering a question in a pop quiz. 

“Yeah, that about sums up the basics,” Steve says, and turns to face Bucky, stopping the both of them as he braces for the truly awkward part of this all, “Uh, some of us- Well, some of us, we have- Mates? Like, soulmates? And we, well we just sort of  _ know  _ when we first see them. And well, I, you know,  _ knew,  _ the day I met you. That you’re, um, well you’re my, you know… Mate.” 

Bucky stares at him. 

Steve shifts uncomfortably under his gaze. 

“That’s uh- A lot.” Bucky finally says, and then, “Hand me your phone.” 

Steve doesn’t think before he complies, just hands it over to Bucky, who taps something into it and elicits a buzz from what must be his phone in his pocket. 

“Okay, you have my number. And I have yours. So you can, uh, call me or whatever, I guess? Or I’ll call you. Yeah. Maybe that’d be best. Wait for me to call. But just- Just give me a couple days first though, okay? This is kind of a lot to spring on a guy. I think I need to process.” And with that, he presses Steve’s phone back into his hands and leaves. 

It’s not a denial. 

It’s not even a rejection. 

Still, it stings a little. 

🐺🐺🐺

Bucky doesn’t reach out the next day, and Steve spends a huge chunk of his time staring sullenly at his phone, resisting the temptation to text first. 

He sleeps like hell that night and then barely makes it through his classes alive the day after that. But eventually the waiting pays off when his phone rings in the middle of the night, the screen lighting up with the name Bucky had programmed in for himself, “ _ BUCKY (YOUR SOULMATE? WEIRD?????) _ ” 

“Hi,” Steve says into his phone, a little breathless, “You called.” 

“I said I would,” Bucky says, and Steve feels the dumb, werewolf part of himself just sort of  _ relax  _ at the sound of his voice. “If I’m your soulmate that means you’ll talk to me while I’m working on this presentation so that I don’t actually die of boredom, right?”

“ _ Yeah,”  _ Steve says quickly, maybe a little too enthusiastically, “I mean, yes, absolutely. Of course. What are you working on?” He asks, voice a little more normal-  _ hopefully-  _ as he settles into his bed a little more comfortably, the sound of Bucky’s breathing on the other end of the line and the rain outside soothing the strange, frayed nerves he’s been dealing with for the last couple days. 

“Breaking down the elements of a  Mesopotamian spell for a bountiful harvest. It’s a lot more boring than it sounds, and to be honest, it sounds incredibly boring,” Bucky says, and Steve can hear what sounds like typing on a laptop and Bucky flipping a page in a book. 

“Oh. Are you a witch then?” 

“Nope,” Bucky says, giving no further explanation.

Okay, so Bucky’s not exactly forthcoming with personal details. Steve can work with that. He’s desperate to know more about his mate, but he can be patient. He  _ can.  _ He doesn’t care that literally anyone who knows him would argue that he cannot, in fact, be patient.

“You should tell me about yourself, since I’m apparently your soulmate and all,” Bucky says over the sound of clacking keys, “Where are you from? What’s your major? Any siblings? Or terrible mommy issues? Are any of the rumors about werewolves true? I’ve heard some  _ interesting  _ ones. These are all important to know if I’m supposed to be your destiny or whatever.” 

He says ‘ _ interesting’  _ in a way that makes Steve blush and feel a little like he’s choking on air. 

“I- The rumors are- We’ll- We’ll get to those later,” Steve says, trying not to let his brain wander too far into what  _ exact _ rumors Bucky might or might not be talking about. “I’m an art history major. No siblings, or mommy issues. Or at least I don’t think I have any? But, again, I’m an only child raised by a single mother so I guess other people can be the judge of that. I’m from New York- Brooklyn to be exact.” 

Bucky makes a low sort of whistling sound, and says “Asteria’s a little far from Brooklyn, huh?” 

It’s true. Asteria University is nestled into the little middle of nowhere town that grew up around it in the Pacific Northwest. It’s also further from home than Steve had ever been before he started there. 

“Yeah. Unfortunately for me and my mom, it’s about as far as you can get while staying in the same country..” 

“Did you think about going to Echidna instead? Staying a little closer to home?” 

“Honestly?” 

“Of course.” 

“I know that’s where you went- not that I’m stalking you or anything! I just- my friend Sharon, she talked to Natasha because they’re both nosy, and then Sharon told me. I promise-” 

“Steve,” Bucky interrupts, already sounding fondly long suffering despite the fact that he’s known Steve for barely any time at all. 

“Yeah?” 

“I don’t care if your friend got information from Nat. Now answer the question.” 

“Oh, yeah, like I was saying. I know that’s where you went before you transferred, so I mean, it must have been appealing to you on some level, but I did a campus visit and I kind of hated it? It just- I don’t know, it didn’t feel like a place I’d be real comfortable, I guess..” 

“Yeah,” Bucky says, sounding almost a little distant, “I guess I ended up not really liking it either.” 

“Do you like it here?” 

“Yeah,” Bucky says, “Yeah, I think it’s growing on me.” 

Steve’s response is cut off by his body forcing a huge yawn on him right then and there, and Bucky’s voice following it, soft, “It’s getting pretty late. I should let you go.” 

Steve doesn’t particularly want to stop talking to Bucky, but he reluctantly agrees, and that night, he sleeps the best he has since Bucky Barnes walked into the coffeeshop. 

🐺🐺🐺

“We’re going camping this weekend,” Sharon tells Steve Friday after Steve’s last class of the week, shoving a bag at his chest. “I already packed your bag and got someone to cover your shift tomorrow, so all you have to do is come.” 

“Who’s we?” Steve asks as he shoulders the bag, following Sharon towards the parking lot. There’s no use fighting her, so he might as well go along for the ride. 

“Oh, you know, just some of us,” Sharon says, waving a hand vaguely, “Sam, Nat, Scott, Clint, Wanda, Pietro… and Bucky.” 

“Bucky’s coming?” Steve asks, doing his best to not sound hopeful and failing miserably based on Sharon’s expression. 

“Yes, and please stop looking like an excited puppy before you see him. You’re gonna scare the poor thing away,” Sharon says, but it’s too late, they’ve already reached the parking lot where Sharon’s car and Clint’s truck are parked, and Bucky is leaning casually against Sharon’s Camry so yeah, Steve basically doesn’t hear a thing Sharon just said.

“Hi,” Steve says, and wiggles his fingers in a wave, feeling a smile spread across his face full force. 

“Hi,” Bucky says, mirroring Steve’s gesture. 

They stare at each other for possibly longer than is strictly appropriate, but Steve refuses to be ashamed, even when Natasha clears her throat and gives him a judgemental look.

“Oh good grief,” Natasha says, “Everybody get in your assigned vehicle and let’s get this show on the road.” 

Steve had this whole thing sprung on him by Sharon, so it’s not like he’s been assigned a vehicle just yet, though that doesn’t seem to matter when Sharon shoves him towards her car with a “You’re with me, pal.” 

He ends up squished into the back of Sharon’s camry between Sam and Bucky, while Sharon drives and Natasha takes the front passenger seat. The others pile into Clint’s truck and then they’re off, Bucky and Sam griping at each other over Steve and Sharon and Nat chatting back and forth. 

“You guys do this a lot?” Bucky asks eventually, when the sights of the small small town have given way to trees as far as the eye can see. 

“Only whenever we can,” Sharon says, “We wolves like to stretch our legs and enjoy nature.” 

“Speak for yourself,” Steve says. 

“You’re a city wolf, you don’t count,” Sharon says, flapping a noncommittal hand back towards Steve, “The rest of us need to commune with nature.” 

“And you drag the rest of us with you,” Natasha says.

“Oh, don’t pretend you don’t live for the chance to stretch your wings Nat. And if you don’t come who’s going to keep me warm in my tent?” Sharon asks, leering outrageously at Nat and earning a chorus of groans from the poor, suffering trio in the back seat. 

When they reach the camping spot everyone spills out of Sharon’s car and Steve spends a good minute stretching his legs and popping his back. 

Riding in the middle of the backseat of a Toyota Camry is  _ not  _ a life choice he’d recommend. 

Clint’s truck is already there when they arrive, and Wanda and Pietro have already dragged the tents out and are setting them up, Wanda’s hands glowing with the faint red light of her magic. It feels like a  _ very  _ unwise decision to leave their shelter in the hands of the twins, but any argument will absolutely get Steve roped into helping set them up so he resists the urge to say anything and instead takes a beer when Clint offers one. 

Sam, thankfully, goes to supervise the tent building while Natasha and Sharon put together a fire. 

“This is why we really bring her with us,” Steve says, leaning against the bed of Clint’s truck next to Bucky and watching as Natasha blows a string of fire onto the pile of wood.

“Who needs a lighter when you’ve got Natasha,” Bucky says, taking a long pull from his own beer. Steve is briefly transfixed by the way his throat moves when he swallows.

The trees surrounding them are huge and green, the sound of water crashing onto the beach just on the other side of them. Everything out here is gorgeous, the kind of place instagram influencers itch to take a picture of, but Steve’s transfixed on Bucky instead. 

“So, how does that whole thing work?” Bucky asks, waving a hand towards Natasha and Sharon and pulling him out of any thoughts of how the sun setting is casting a glow on Bucky- the way his hair is attempting to escape the braided crown he has it in and is falling into his eyes. 

“Huh?” 

“Nat and Sharon. Nat’s been telling me it’s casual for ages, but…” 

“It doesn’t seem like it?” 

“Nah, not at all.” 

“Yeah, try telling either of them that ‘casually’ hooking up with each other almost exclusively since freshman year isn’t exactly casual. They’re both smart as hell, but also incredibly du-” 

“Rogers!” Sharon interrupts them and Steve narrows his eyes at her, and she narrows her eyes right back and Steve’s suddenly sure she’s been listening, “Stop gossiping and help me get food ready.” 

Oh yeah, she was definitely listening. 

The next morning they all split off into smaller groups, Natasha, Sam, and Sharon heading towards the beach, Clint, Wanda and Pietro heading further into the woods, and Scott hanging around the campsite poking at the fire. 

Steve’s stuffed his pack with his sketchbook, his travel watercolors, and a few snacks and is lacing his boots up when Bucky plops down beside him on the bench-like stump of wood.

“I feel like someone should definitely stay here with Scott,” Bucky says just as the dying fire pops and Scott jumps back with a string of swears, “But I’m coming with you instead.” 

“You don’t even know what I’m going to do,” Steve points out, “I could be going to cliff dive, or something else incredibly dangerous.” 

“Ah, yes, cliff diving. A sport done best by those in heavy combat boots and multiple layers of flannel,” Bucky says, nodding wisely. 

“Okay, yeah, there’s no cliff diving involved. You might want to put on some pants though, we might end up going through some bush to get where we want to go.” 

Bucky blinks down at his overall shorts like Steve is speaking a mystifying language and shrugs, “I think I’ll be okay.” 

It turns out Steve had no need to be worried, because even as Steve ends up with torn jeans from getting caught in a patch of brambles and then tripping while climbing up some rocks to get where he wants, Bucky gets through miraculously unscathed- almost as if the woods are unwilling to hurt him. 

Bucky lets out a low whistle when they get there, “It’s beautiful.” 

And it is. The rocky cliffside juts out over a sharp drop into the water, choppy waves as far as the eye can see in one direction, and in another is a vast stretch of beach and even more ocean, rocks jutting up through the waves the only thing to break the long endlessness of it. 

With the sun shining as the very end of summer takes its last drowning breaths before it accepts its defeat and they fall face first into autumn, it takes Steve’s breath away. 

Though Steve knows that even when it’s cloudy and cold it’s just as beautiful out here. He misses home like it’s an aching wound sometimes, but when he’s out here it’s sometimes easy to forget. 

“So, what now?” Bucky asks, plucking a bright purple bloom that Steve’s absolute lack of knowledge when it comes to flowers means he can’t identify. 

“I was planning to paint, but we can do something else if you want?” Steve offers, “Cliff diving isn’t off the table.” 

“No,” Bucky says decisively, “Go ahead and paint. I’m just gonna-” He plops down in a patch of grass and turns his face up towards the sun, “-relax and enjoy the sun.” 

They fall into a silence punctuated by the waves beneath them, the birds in the trees, the occasional flipping of a page in the book Bucky had brought with him and muttered complaint from Steve when he can’t get something  _ just right _ . 

Eventually though, Bucky interrupts it.

“Draw me like one of your french girls, Jack,” He says, and Steve snorts but he can’t exactly say  _ no _ . 

He’s been itching to capture Bucky on paper since he first saw him, but this moment- Bucky splayed out in the grass, an open book set face down on his stomach and his arms behind his head, one strong and tan and the other glowing with magic, a bright purple blossom tucked behind his ear- it feels like it  _ has _ to be put down on paper, as well as in his memory. 

Later that night they build a bonfire on the beach. 

Steve makes his way to Bucky where he’s sat with a blanket over his shoulders, his eyes aglow in the firelight. 

“I made you a hot dog,” He says, thrusting it towards Bucky. The bun is a little squished from Scott sitting on the package earlier, but it’s still good, and the part of himself that he’s trying to keep in check around Bucky feels  _ very  _ pleased to be bringing his mate food. 

Bucky takes the hot dog with a mumbled “thanks” and then, surprising  _ both _ of them if the look on Bucky’s face is to be trusted, he lifts up one side of his blanket for Steve. 

Steve absolutely doesn’t need to be told twice, so he slides under the blanket and Bucky’s arm before he can change his mind. 

“I knew I was growing on you,” Steve says brightly, and Bucky snorts, and says “Yeah, like a tumor,” but he’s smiling enough that it feels like it lights up the whole night, so Steve really doubts he means it. 

On the drive home, Bucky falls asleep slumped over with his head on Steve’s shoulder. Steve spends the ride doing his best to stay as still as possible so he doesn’t wake him, and if he smooths a hand carefully over Bucky’s hair, or even worse, presses his nose into it gently to breathe him in? Then that’s between him and absolutely nobody else. 

  
  


🐺🐺🐺

No matter how long you’ve been a werewolf, no matter whether you’ve been born into it or bitten, no matter what you do to make it easier or how many times you do it, one thing remains constant: Changing always fucking  _ hurts.  _

Bones break. They crack and rearrange. Fur grows over skin. An entire body is reformed into something else. 

There’s no way that’s not going to be 1. traumatic as fuck and 2. painful as fuck. 

On the bright side, the more a werewolf changes the faster the change comes, and Steve is quickly left on four paws under a bright shining full moon surrounded by the rest of the AU pack. 

Sharon raises her head and howls dramatically at the moon and Steve bumps his nose to Sam’s and then playfully pounces, trying to have a normal full moon with his friends and to ignore the drive to find Bucky. 

It’s stronger right now, is the thing, with the moon high in the sky and Steve’s wolf at the forefront. 

He finds himself ignoring Sam’s playful growl in retaliation, his paws carrying him in the direction of civilization instead of further into the woods like the pack would normally go. 

There’s a growl- this time more serious, and from Sharon as she grabs a mouthful of Steve’s fur along his flank and attempts to drag him backwards toward the rest of the pack. 

Steve noses at her face apologetically, and then, the moment her guard is let down even minutely, bolts. 

He’ll apologize in the morning. 

When he reaches Bucky’s house he can hear him inside, pacing, a femine voice speaking- quiet like it’s coming through a phone. 

“Becca, I’m fine, I swear,” Bucky is saying in response, “They’re not going to come after me here. I don’t matter that much.” 

“I just think you should come home,” The voice on the phone- Becca, apparently- says, “Mom does too. We could make sure-” 

“Excuse me Becs, there’s a lost dog on my doorstep, gotta go take him to the pound,” Bucky is saying and hanging up and it takes a solid 15 seconds and Bucky opening the door to stare at Steve for Steve to realize Bucky’s talking about  _ him.  _

“Steve,” Bucky says, crossing his arms over his chest. 

He looks very soft and rumpled, in comfortable looking pale grey pajama pants with tiny potted cactuses printed all over them and a baggy tank top hanging half off of one shoulder. 

Steve cocks his head, doing his best to look cute and not like a semi-stalker werewolf soulmate. He’s not sure how well he pulls it off, but a guy can try.

“Aren’t you supposed to be with the rest of the pack?” Bucky asks, glancing out the door at the full moon. 

Steve does the best impression of shrugging that one can do when one is roughly 100 pounds of fur and teeth. 

Bucky sighs and steps aside, gesturing for Steve to come inside. “I just got food and I ordered too much. If you don’t shed on my sofa you can have some.”

Steve gives Bucky a flat look, attempting to communicate a very solid ‘ _ No promises _ ,’ and then leaps onto Bucky’s couch. 

Bucky disappears into the kitchen, presumably to get his food, and Steve takes a moment to snoop- to  _ look _ around the house. It’s nicer than Steve expects out of the house of a college senior. For one thing it’s an actual house. More of a tiny cottage tucked into the edge of the woods that surround town, but it’s still an actual house with space to breathe in it, which is more than Steve and Sam can say for the apartment they share closer to campus.

There’s pale purple floral curtains and blown glass witch balls hanging in the windows. Amulets hang by the door and a row of crystals sit on the ledge above it. One whole wall is taken up by a bookshelf filled to the brim with books, some with cracked leather covers that look old enough that Steve would be afraid to breathe on them and some shiny and new, but all of them stacked to the point of feeling vaguely threatening. 

The coffee table boasts a vase filled with a riot of colorful flowers next to a haphazard stack of books and Steve scoots a little closer to the edge of the couch, leaning off of it to catch sight of the titles, which is about the moment that Bucky sets a bag of take out on top of the stack, obscuring the title so that all that Steve can see is 

**_PROTECTIV-_ **

**_THE ART OF W-_ **

**_YOUR H-_ **

Steve shoots him a disgruntled look. 

“Did I interrupt something? I didn’t think dogs could read,” Bucky says innocently. 

Steve lets out an offended growl and bares his teeth. 

“I’m just teasing,” Bucky says and scritches at the perfect spot behind Steve’s ear, which is really and truly incredibly unfair because it makes Steve  _ melt.  _

After a moment of making Steve melt into a pile of werewolf shaped goo, Bucky stops and leans forward to grab the food. “You like Chinese food right?” 

Steve gives his best ‘Of course I do, I’m not a  _ monster, _ ’ look though he’s not sure how well it translates. 

He’s never really minded not being able to communicate with  _ people  _ on full moons. Normally he’s either with just his ma, or the AU pack, so it’s never really mattered. But now that he’s with Bucky, all the jangling nerves settled now that he’s close, he really fucking wishes he could just  _ talk.  _

Maybe it’s better that he can’t. There’s always the risk he’ll tell Bucky exactly how much better he feels when he’s around him and come on too strong. 

Bucky sets a plate of food on the couch in front of him, and Steve tries to separate himself as much as possible from the part of himself that is  _ very much  _ preening over the fact that his mate just made him  _ food.  _ It’s a practicality matter. He  _ knows that.  _

Still, he very gently takes a piece of sweet and sour chicken between his teeth and does his best not to make a mess in thanks. 

Bucky falls asleep on the couch with Steve later that night, using Steve like a giant werewolf shaped teddy bear, his hands curled tight into Steve’s fur. 

The next morning, when Steve wakes up human, his head is pillowed on Bucky’s chest and a large, warm arm is draped over Steve’s waist. 

Steve does his very best not to read too much into it, but he does spend what feels like too long and not long enough all at once with his eyes closed, listening to the solid beat of Bucky’s heart. 

🐺🐺🐺

The coffee shop always goes all out for halloween. 

Which means the second the first full moon of October is over and Steve’s back to work after sleeping off the post full moon hangover they get to decorating. 

The bakery chest is filled with Halloween themed treats courtesy of Frigga, and Thor puts up bat shaped twinkle lights and faux spiderwebs. Steve redoes the menu, adding doodles of ghosts and jack-o-lanterns and sundry then makes Thor hang it back up for him. And Loki, well, Loki disappears for most of it, only coming back to tell Thor that he should have gone with skull lights this year and also, he hung them too low and they’re throwing off Loki’s vibes before disappearing once again. 

The next afternoon when Steve arrives for his shift, Kate, the new freshman who Clint apparently knows from elf things or whatever and who he got a job, draws a set of whiskers and a cat nose on his face and shoves a pair of cat ears on his head before he clocks in. 

“Cute,” Bucky says when he sees, and Steve feels his cheeks heat at the comment. Bucky,  _ thankfully _ , doesn’t mention Steve’s current tomato like qualities. 

“We take the holiday very seriously here at Frigga’s Cafe,” Steve says solemnly, though judging by the way Bucky’s smiling Steve’s face paint and fuzzy ears don’t really lend to the serious act all that much. 

“I can see that,” Bucky says, leaning over the counter a little bit to flick at one of Steve’s cat ears, “This is the sign of a very serious business, clearly.” 

“I won’t tolerate you mocking our fine establishment,” Steve says with an indignant sniff. He lets the act fall after the barest of moments and cracks a grin at Bucky, a grin that Bucky very much matches. 

Unfortunately, Steve can’t exactly just stand there grinning like an idiot at his soulmate forever, because a customer in line behind Bucky clears her throat pointedly. So, despite himself, he takes Bucky’s order and watches glumly as he heads down to the pickup window. 

When the end of Steve’s shift rolls around, Bucky is still there, curled up into one of the more comfortable chairs and scrolling through his phone. 

Steve’s heart does a peculiar sort of twist at the sight of him, at the knowledge- or rather,  _ the hope-  _ that Bucky stuck around for  _ him.  _

“Oh, good, you’re off,” Bucky says with a smile that Steve matches when he reaches him, sans his apron, nametag, and cat ears. “I decided that you’re taking me to lunch.” 

“Am I?” 

“Yep,” Bucky says, leading the way out of the coffee shop with a wave goodbye to Clint, “I still don’t know exactly how this soulmate thing is supposed to work, but if it doesn’t involve lunch I’ll be pretty upset.” 

“Well, since as your mate I’m legally obligated to never upset you-” 

“Sounds like a lie, but okay.” Bucky says and Steve makes an outraged noise.

“This is harassment and against the soulmate code of conduct.” 

“There’s a soulmate code of conduct?” 

“Of course. You should have gotten an email with it.” 

“Hmmm, must have gone to my spam folder,” Bucky teases and slides his hand into Steve’s like he’s not doing anything at all out of the ordinary. 

If Steve was 12 and had a diary this is the sort of thing that would definitely go inside it. ‘ _ First time Bucky held my hand!’  _ would absolutely be written in purple sparkly gel pen with the date and hearts doodled around it. 

It would be incredibly embarrassing. 

However, since he is distinctly not twelve and has a twitter instead of a diary like a normal person in their early 20s, he just sort of internally has a shrieking meltdown over it. 

“So, I see what the coffee shop does for the Halloween season. And the school. And honestly this whole town,” Bucky says, gesturing out the window of the cafe they’re at for lunch towards Main Street where the shops and restaurants of Asteria have started their annual putting out of jack-o-lanterns and other seasonal decorations. The town has a decent amount of pride in the fact that it hosts one of the small number of all magical universities in the country, which apparently means celebrating the magical season with relish. “How does the pack celebrate?” 

“Well, this year it’s a full moon, so I guess an excruciating transformation followed by running around the woods and trying not to end up on your porch unannounced again. Usually the Technomancer Society throws a big ass party though. Careful if you decide to go, they’ll have a fucking fit over your arm. ” 

“It wasn’t so bad,” Bucky says. 

“What? Your arm?” Steve asks, not quite with bated breath, but  _ still,  _ if this is a moment where Bucky finally feels like sharing he’s going to take it.

“No. You showing up unannounced. I think I coughed up a hairball the next day from you shedding on top of me, but you know, it wasn’t that bad.” 

And okay, it’s not  _ sharing  _ exactly, but it does make Steve take a huge bite of his sandwich to hide his smile. 

“Good,” He says, once he’s gotten his face mostly under control and swallowed his food, “Cause I really can’t promise it won’t happen again. It’s just… There’s a  _ pull _ , I guess, and it’s stronger when I’m shifted.” 

“I get it,” Bucky says, “I mean, I don’t  _ get it,  _ cause obviously I’m not a werewolf so I don’t really know what you’re feeling exactly, but like, I get it and I don’t mind. I can’t say it’s insulting by any means that I’m so irresistible.” 

“Oh good, I’ll remind you that you said that when I do something  _ really  _ weird like leave a dead deer on your doorstep or something.” Steve’s mostly joking. He thinks. He’s definitely heard of werewolves who got a little  _ extra  _ and hunted down big game to show how good a provider they were for their mates, but that’s  _ not  _ Steve’s m.o. At least he really hopes it never is. 

“No. Absolutely not. That’s not allowed. I’m removing myself from  _ that  _ narrative.” 

🐺🐺🐺

Halloween night rolls around and so does the full moon, obstructed by a thick layer of clouds but still, judging by the ache in Steve’s bones as he waits for his change to roll around, undeniably there. 

“I feel like  _ shit,”  _ He tells Sharon, sprawled out on the forest floor, staring up at tree branches in the fading light of twilight. 

“You always feel like shit before the change, Rogers,” Sharon says, flopping herself down next to Steve, her limbs sprawling over Steve’s. She’s followed by Sam and then the rest of the AU pack, slowly trickling into the woods behind them. “It’s your gentle disposition.” 

“I’ll show you a gentle disposition,” Steve mutters, shoving at Sharon lazily. 

There’s the crunching sound of someone walking over leaves and the entire pack perks up as someone comes through the trees. 

“ _ Bucky,”  _ Steve says, sure his smile is absolutely blinding at the sight of him. 

“Hey,” Bucky says, smiling and Steve suddenly doesn’t need the clouds to clear so that he can see the moon, Bucky is more than bright enough. “I thought- I don’t know- maybe if I came out you wouldn’t have to show up on my doorstep and could actually spend the night with your pack. I realize now that this could be an invasion of privacy though, and that I really should have checked-” 

“ _ Bucky,”  _ Steve interrupts. 

“Yeah?” 

“Thank you,” He says, sincere enough it makes him a little uncomfortable. “I appreciate it. A lot.” 

He can’t say much more, can’t pay attention to whatever Bucky is saying in response, because the moon’s pull has finally reached its peak and the change takes hold. 

He doesn’t scream anymore- hasn’t for a very long time, but he can hear the somewhat newly turned Peter’s hitched breaths and yelps ringing in his ears and then he’s on all fours and blinking up at Bucky on his knees in front of him. 

“Hey, hey, shhh,” Bucky soothes, sliding his hands into Steve’s fur, broadcasting every moment, “Shit, that looked pretty rough.” 

Steve fixes him with his best  _ ‘no shit, sherlock’ _ look. 

“Don’t give me that judgy look, Rogers,” Bucky says, scratching behind Steve’s ears in a way that very unfairly makes him lose the judgemental look and lean into it, “They don’t exactly tell us how painful that shit looks in school, okay?” 

Steve noses at Bucky’s face in acceptance of that because, yeah, okay, that  _ is  _ true. It’s not like they go in depth into every known supernatural species and how they work in school. 

Sharon barks from a few feet away, a clear sign to Steve to hurry his shit up and Steve, with a lick across Bucky’s face that has him making an outraged noise and laughing, turns tail and chases after his pack into the woods, nipping at Sam’s heels when he gains ground and howling his delight.

_ There are two hooded figures in the woods, standing on a makeshift bridge made by an overturned tree, the scent of cigarette smoke and metal and something darker clouding around them.  _

_ Sam and Steve break off from the pack to investigate, staying low to the ground, ears up.  _

_ “I fucking hate these woods,” One tells the other, “Why the hell did we have to be the ones sent to this fuckoff town to track down Pierce’s special little project? I hunt big game, not damaged goods. Didn’t the old man already get what he wanted-”  _

_ “Shut the fuck up Rollins, this is important.” The other one says, stepping off the bridge and landing with a soft thud on the soft forest floor.  _

_ Something about him sets Steve’s fur on end, and beside him, Sam seems to agree.  _

_ “I just don’t get why  _ **_we’re_ ** _ the ones who have to drag our asses across the goddamn country and into this backwoods town with it’s glorified magical liberal arts college to tromp around the fucking forest in the middle of the fucking night,” The other man keeps complaining, following his partner down off the overturned tree with somewhat less grace, “There’s better shit I could be doing on Halloween night Rumlow.”  _

_ “Stop talking for one fucking second and look up,” There’s a glint of silver in the man’s hand that he slots under the complaining one’s chin and uses to direct him to look up. “See that shit? That’s a full fucking moon you idiot. You know what that means?”  _

_ “That I could be getting a great fucking lay right now? Full moons make people  _ **_crazy,_ ** _ man.” _

_ “No, idiot. It means there’s mutts around. It means Pierce’s little-”  _

_ Steve misses the rest of what the man says when a soft breeze whispers through the woods, the scent of wolfsbane burning in his throat, and the dawning realization strikes that these assholes in front of them are hunters.  _

_ Fucking  _ **_hunters._ **

_ Here’s the thing. There’s two different kinds of hunters when it comes to the supernatural. There’s the hunters whose game includes things like unicorns, selkies, and dragons- creatures whose skins, or horns, or scales are worth thousands of times their weight in gold. And then there’s the hunters whose prey are whatever they hate. Creatures they consider vile. Usually those are what they consider dangerous- sirens, vampires, dragons again- or things they consider cursed- Vampires, again.  _

_ Or werewolves.  _

_ Yeah, hunters really fucking love killing werewolves.  _

_ So much so apparently that they’ll break about a hundred different laws and show up at a Magical University on a full moon.  _

_ There’s laws specifically against hunting in general. Specific codes that hunters have to follow. Proof that has to be given that a specific kill is justified. But, in general, it’s illegal as hell these days and schools are considered protected.  _

_ Not like Steve can be surprised though. Humans kill other humans in schools all the time these days. Why would Steve’s kind be any different?  _

_ Before Sam or Steve can figure out what to do a branch cracks. Steve whirls onto something that seems to glow in the moonlight and when he looks back, the hooded figures are gone. _

_ When he turns back in the direction of the glowing  _ **_something_ ** _ it’s seemingly gone too.  _

_ He thinks, for a moment, about tracking either the hunters or the Something, but Sharon’s howl echoes in the distance, calling for Sam and Steve to rejoin the pack, and they both take off after it. _

When Steve wakes up the previous night feels like some sort of bad dream. 

Especially when Bucky’s there, his head bent over Steve as he blinks his eyes open, the dappled sun streaming through the trees lighting him up like he’s some sort of angel sent just for Steve. 

“Hi,” Steve says, reaching up to thread his fingers through the loose curls hanging around Bucky’s face without thinking. 

“Hi,” There’s a wrinkle between Bucky’s eyebrows, something like concern shading his face. “You okay?” 

“Yeah, of course. Why wouldn’t I be?” 

“No reason,” Bucky says quickly, “I just- Nothing. I thought we could go back to my place and I could make breakfast. Sharon told me you guys tend to be hungry after a full moon.” 

Steve notices the change of subject, but he’s frankly too exhausted to really focus on it, especially when the idea of food, and Bucky, and Bucky’s home is on the table. 

“I would  _ love  _ to,” Steve says, and then, “But unfortunately I won’t be moving from this spot for the next hour or so due to the fact that I’m exhausted from  _ literally _ rearranging and reshaping my entire body.” 

“You’re an idiot,” Bucky tells him, but there’s something fond about it that means Steve doesn’t take it personally. 

“I think it’s growing on you though.” 

“Unfortunately,” Bucky says, getting to his feet and pulling on Steve’s hands until he follows. “C’mon, climb on.” 

If it weren’t the morning after a full moon Steve might argue that he can walk just fine,  _ thank you,  _ but as it is, he’s tired and achy and Bucky’s back looks very sturdy and very nice, so he lets himself give into temptation and climb on, looping his arms around Bucky’s neck as Bucky’s hands hitch themselves under Steve’s thighs to keep him supported. 

It’s… nice. It’s  _ very  _ nice. 

“Onward ho, noble steed,” Steve says tiredly into Bucky’s shoulder, patting at the broad chest beneath his hands a couple times as Bucky carries him out of the woods, away from the last stragglers of the pack who haven’t yet woken up and made their way back to their own homes. 


	2. Chapter 2

It’s always been tradition that Steve goes home for winter break. His ma picks him up at the airport in the car they barely use, and Steve always spends the drive home telling her stories from the last semester and catching up on everything that’s happened at home. 

This year is no different. 

Even if Steve would have liked to stay on campus and mope around after Bucky, hoping to get to the point where they can do  _ more  _ than hold hands or whatever, Sarah Rogers, standing three inches shorter than even Steve and looking like a particularly hard breeze could knock her over, is a force to be reckoned with that Steve will absolutely  _ not  _ reckon with. 

Besides, he’d miss his ma like crazy if he didn’t come home. 

“I still think that mate of yours should have come with you,” Sarah says as she flips through a pile of takeout menus once they’re home from the airport and safely inside the apartment Steve’s grown up in. 

“I don’t think we’re really at the bringing him home to meet the parents stage yet, Ma,” Steve says, “Besides, he has his own family to go home to.” 

“Really? Where does his family live?” 

“Uh, I’m not sure exactly.” 

“He’s not particularly generous with information that one, is he?” 

“No, uh, not really.” Steve says, rubbing the back of his neck, and then, “I get the feeling there’s a lot he hasn’t told me actually.” 

“Give it time,” Sarah says, setting down the menus and reaching across to take Steve’s hands into her own, “Not everybody is going to to tell you their life story the moment they find out they’re your mate. Now, how do we feel about pizza for dinner? I’m not saying I forgot to go grocery shopping before you flew in, but I’m not  _ not  _ saying that.” 

Steve wakes up bright and early on Christmas morning to the sound of his phone vibrating next to his head. 

He grabs the phone, jabbing at the screen blindly until it picks up and sleepily slurring “Hello?” into it. 

“Hi,” Bucky says into his ear, “Merry Christmas.”

Steve would like to say the sound of his mate’s voice wakes him up immediately, but if anything it just sort of makes him want to curl up in it and go back to sleep. He forces himself not to however, and wrenches his body into a sitting position. 

“Merry Christmas, Buck. Where are you that you’re awake at-” He pulls his phone away from his face long enough to squint at the time, “8 in the morning? It’s like 5 back at school.” 

“Not that far,” Bucky says vaguely, and Steve can hear background noise through the phone- the sound of street traffic, a honking car, something sizzling on a stove, and four femine voices going back and forth, but it’s nothing identifiable. 

“Cryptic, but okay,” Steve says. 

“Did you find your Christmas present?” 

“It was shoved into the top of my carry-on, so yeah,” Steve says, already reaching for the neatly red and green wrapped package with a post-it note not much smaller than the package itself declaring ‘ _ DO NOT OPEN BEFORE X-MAS!! I MEAN IT ROGERS!’  _ still stuck to it, “Did you find yours?” 

“No, I completely missed it sitting on my doorstep when I left for the airport. Yeah, of course I found it.” Bucky says, and then, a little more hesitantly, “Do you wanna like, I don’t know, video chat and open them or something? I think I safely have like 15 more minutes before my sisters come in here.” 

“ _ Yes,”  _ Steve says with zero hesitation, and then, before Bucky can change his mind, he hits the little camera button to turn their call into a video call. 

“Oh shit, I really did wake you up didn’t I?” Bucky asks when his face fills Steve’s phone screen, his eyes glancing noticeably towards the bottom of the screen. 

“Oh, uh, yeah, you did,” Steve says, scratching at his bare chest. Maybe he should have actually  _ thought  _ to put on a shirt and comb his hair before this. He squints at the screen, “Nevermind that, are those christmas penguins on your pajamas?” 

“Yes,” Bucky says with an indignant sniff, “we’re a matching pajamas on Christmas morning kind of family. You got a problem with that?” 

“Absolutely not. They’re adorable. I was just wondering if it’s two pieces or a full on onesie?” Steve asks, not even trying to hide his grin a little bit. It’s Christmas, and Bucky is in front of him, even if it’s via a phone, and he’s  _ adorable.  _

“I can tell you’re mocking me Rogers so I’m not answering that question.” 

“Sorry,” Steve says, unrepentant. 

“Liar,” Bucky says, but he’s smiling and fond, so Steve doubts he minds too much. “So, you ready to open your present?” 

“Absolutely,” Steve says, propping his phone up on his bedside table and twisting around to face it properly so that he has both hands free. 

There’s a little bit of shuffling on Bucky’s end as he seems to do the same, and then, Bucky’s voice saying, “You first, Steve.” 

Steve carefully undoes the wrapping, feeling like this is somehow special- the first gifts he’s exchanged with his  _ mate-  _ and wanting to treat it like such. 

Inside is a small bottle attached to a long chain. The bottle itself seems to be made of some sort of crystal- fluorite, maybe? Steve’s never been great with stones- and whatever’s inside it seems to glow gently in the way that some magic does where it makes Steve’s eyes want to instinctively shift away. 

“It’s a spell bottle,” Bucky says as Steve holds it between two fingers, turning it in the light, “As long as you wear it it’ll bring protection.” 

“It’s beautiful, thank you,” Steve says as he slides it on over his head, the pendant like bottle coming to rest on his sternum, and beneath it, Steve’s heart giving a thump at the pleased look on Bucky’s face. 

“My turn,” Bucky says, overly careful for Steve’s patience as he unwraps his present. Or maybe not careful enough. Suddenly Steve feels the pit of dread in his stomach that comes from not being  _ sure  _ about a gift. Is it enough? Will Bucky like it? Was Natasha fucking with him when he sent her pictures for approval? 

Finally, Bucky unwraps the last of the hand painted brown paper and picks up the first item- a carved, wooden wolf, small enough to fit in the palm of Bucky’s hand- inspecting it. 

“I uh, took a wood working class last year and I, uh, I don’t know, I thought you might- But if you don’t it’s not-” Steve starts, coming to stop when Bucky raises a hand. 

“ _Steve._ Stop worrying. I like it.” He says, setting the wolf to the side where Steve can no longer see it from the vantage the camera offers, and shaking the other item free of it’s wrapping. 

It’s a shirt, the fabric a sort of sheer pink  _ something _ that Steve knows feels soft and slippery beneath Bucky’s hands, with a pattern made of glittering strawberries all over it.

Bucky’s expression curls into a smile that lifts Steve up like a balloon as Bucky holds the fabric of his shirt closer, and delighted, says  _ “Steve.”  _

“I thought you’d like it,” Steve says, wishing he could somehow move through the phone- be in the room where Bucky is so that he could  _ touch,  _ or at the very least just share the space with him. 

“I  _ do,  _ thank you-” 

There’s a cacophony of sudden noise as Bucky’s interrupted and a girl throws herself into the spot next to him. She’s followed by another one, and then yet another who settles behind all of them. 

“Is this Steve?” One of them asks. 

“Ooooh the famous  _ Steve-”  _ Another says. 

“We’ve heard  _ so much  _ about you Steve.” The last one says. 

“Excuse me Steve, I have to murder and hide my sisters’ bodies,” Bucky says, and then the call is disconnected. 

Steve would be upset at their call getting cut short but, well, Bucky has apparently been  _ talking about him.  _

  
  


🐺🐺🐺

When Steve gets back to school it’s straight into a hugeass frat party.

“Have you seen Natasha?” Sharon asks, pitching her voice to be heard above the music and shoving a red solo cup full of  _ something  _ into his hands. 

“I just got here. And shouldn’t you know where she is?” Steve asks, barely trying to hide the way he leans up onto his toes, trying to peer through the crowd and spot Bucky. 

“We’re on a break.” 

“How are you on a break when you weren’t ever official?” 

“I don’t  _ know Steve, you tell me,”  _ Sharon says, and then “Wait, I think I see her.” 

And then she’s disappearing into the crowd and leaving Steve alone. Or well, as alone as one can be in a frat house surrounded by a bunch of mostly drunk or high college students. 

After she’s gone he wastes a little bit of time moving through the party, drinking from and refilling the cup that Sharon had handed him before her disappearance. He catches Sam for a few minutes before Scott drags Sam into a conversation, gets corralled by Peter Parker for what feels like an eternity, and stumbles upon Thor and Loki doing something that might be fighting back and forth but also just might be  _ them  _ that he backs away from very slowly before Loki can try to demand Steve backs him up in whatever they might or might not be fighting about. 

Through all of this he doesn’t find Bucky, which is just as well, because Bucky is the one who finds Steve when Steve escapes out the front door to the patio to get a breather. 

Steve is  _ just  _ tipsy enough that what leaves his mouth when he sees Bucky is “ _ Wow”  _ and “I shouldn’t have gotten you that shirt for Christmas.” 

Bucky, presumably because he’s not privy to the melody of Steve’s internal monologue currently sounding like a group of shrieking twelve year old girls, looks confused. 

“What? What’s wrong with it?”

“ _ Nothing,”  _ Steve says, maybe a bit  _ too  _ vehemently. “It’s just-,” Steve gestures sort of vaguely to Bucky and all of his  _ everything _ , wearing a shirt that Steve(!)  _ gave him,  _ the sheer nature of the garment leaving  _ very _ little to the imagination, “It’s a lot. For me, personally. To handle.” 

“ _ Oh,”  _ Bucky says, moving closer to Steve, a slow, almost  _ cocky,  _ smile spreading across his face. Steve suddenly feels a little like prey, trapped under Bucky’s gaze, a feeling that as a werewolf Steve is certainly not used to. “So, what you’re saying is, you like it a little too much.” 

“Not in so many words, no, but yeah,” Steve says, bringing his hands up when Bucky is close, his palms flat over the planes of Bucky’s stomach, the skin warm beneath them and only separated from Steve by a thin, sheer,  _ delicate  _ layer of fabric. 

Steve  _ wants.  _

“I want to kiss you,” Bucky says, a detour from teasing Steve. It would be incredibly easy to kiss him like this, with Steve backed up against the wall of the house and Bucky’s hands to either side of him on the wall. Bucky’s taller than Steve by a good deal, but it would be  _ so easy  _ just to lean up and kiss him. 

“Why don’t you then?” Steve asks, breathless, like some damsel in a harlequin romance novel. He can’t believe this is his life- being weak in the knees because his soulmate wants to kiss him, but not making the first move because he’s been resolved this whole damn time  _ not  _ to come off as some overbearing werewolf who pushes Bucky into anything. 

“Because… I think if I start, I won’t be able to stop.”

“And that’s bad how exactly?” Steve asks, “I mean I certainly wouldn’t compl-” 

The words die in his throat when Bucky leans down, interrupting Steve with his mouth on Steve’s own. 

It’s soft at first- the barest press of  __ Bucky’s lips against his own and they stay that way for a while. Exchanging soft kisses, sharing space, sharing  _ air.  _

It’s slow and easy, until there’s a shift- Bucky’s hands on Steve’s waist, pulling him in, Steve’s hands in Bucky’s hair, holding on, grounding himself, pressing closer into Bucky’s warmth. Where once they were sharing air, now Steve feels like they’re trying to breathe each other in like oxygen. 

He dimly registers the sound of people spilling out the front door and onto the patio, a voice saying “oh shit, sorry bro,” before disappearing but it’s impossible to even start to pay attention to anything but Bucky when it feels like- 

When it feels like Steve had felt the day he met Bucky and realized who he was, but multiplied until Steve feels like an entire galaxy, orbiting around one point- Bucky. 

When they break apart, Bucky’s flushed, his mouth swollen and red and Steve thinks he could kiss him again. He could kiss him and keep kissing him, until the party goers have long gone home and the sun is making its way into the sky once again. 

Every feeling he’s kept carefully managed and tucked away, beneath as many layers of self control as he could manage has been upended and he understands,  _ deeply,  _ exactly what Bucky had meant when he said he was afraid he might not be able to stop. 

“That was-” Bucky says, gesturing sort of vaguely with one hand, the other one still firmly holding onto Steve, grounding, keeping him from floating off like he very well feels he could. 

“It was-  _ Yeah,”  _ Steve agrees, words to describe what that was  _ exactly _ failing him in the moment. 

“We should- uh-” Bucky pauses, tipping his head forward until his forehead rests against Steve’s, his hair forming a curtain that makes them feel like they’re alone, in their own little bubble, “We should do it more often, maybe.” 

Unfortunately for Steve they’re  _ not  _ actually in their own little bubble. They’re in college. At a party. Surrounded by other people. Some of them being their friends, who burst out onto the patio, seemingly oblivious to what they’re interrupting. 

“We’re gonna go get food,” Sharon says, Natasha wrapped around her from behind, whatever their issue was it’s seemingly been resolved in the span of a party. 

“I already vetoed Denny’s,” Sam says. 

“I happen to love Denny’s,” Bucky says, and Steve’s sure it’s not true and is just to irritate Sam. They seem to have developed a very specific bond that means they disagree with each other about everything purely on principle. “I’m unvetoing Denny’s.” 

“Literally all I care about is that I get french fries in me within the next 20 minutes,” Natasha says as they all tromp down the stairs, Bucky tucking Steve under his arm as they go. “You two can argue all you want about where we go, but if it delays me getting what I want I promise I will come for you in your sleep.” 

“She’s very serious,” Sharon says, looking disgustingly fond. Steve supposes he can’t judge, he probably has a similar look about Bucky right now. 

🐺🐺🐺

Things are peaceful for a while. 

Steve continues to be disgustingly into Bucky, and Bucky continues to reciprocate just as much as he had on the patio at that party. Bucky can still at times seem like he’s vaguely puzzled by the whole  _ werewolf soulmate thing,  _ but it feels like they’re really  _ going somewhere  _ with this. They go on  _ dates.  _ Bucky brings Steve lunch sometimes at the coffee shop. Bucky brings  _ himself  _ to the coffee shop 4 days out of 5 and endures Loki’s heckling when he and Steve  _ definitely _ break the employee code of conduct and kiss over the register. Hell, Bucky even heckles back. 

So yeah, things are going pretty smoothly. 

Or they are until Steve shows up on Bucky’s porch for the Valentine's Day date that Bucky had informed Steve that Steve is taking him on.

“We need to go. I’m coming to stay with you and Sam,” Bucky says as soon as he opens the door, shoving a bag into Steve’s arms and shoving him towards his car. He’s frazzled, muttering to himself about protection spells and dragon scales and how they should have  _ worked, dammit.  _

“What? Bucky, what’s going on?” Steve is… Well, in all honesty, Steve is worried as hell. Things have been going  _ so well.  _ Sure, Bucky has yet to really warm up to the whole  _ sharing information about himself  _ thing even as he’s warmed up to Steve, but Steve had started to be pretty convinced that was just a  _ Bucky thing _ . But now- well this seems  _ different.  _

“Somebody’s been in my  _ house,  _ Steve. They- They found me. I knew- But I thought that maybe- I don’t- Steve, I just- I need to come stay with you, okay? It’s important.” 

And okay, Steve is not going to say it doesn’t absolutely  _ kill him  _ to stop this train in its tracks, because having Bucky close to him is basically the thing that Steve’s entire soul wants  _ most,  _ but, “You have to tell me what’s going on, Bucky. All of this- Everything you haven’t told me yet- I  _ need  _ to know.”

“Okay-” Bucky says, “Okay, just- Just get in the car and I promise I’ll tell you on the drive, okay?” 

And yeah, no, Steve isn’t going to  _ not  _ listen when it sounds like Bucky is practically begging. So he gets in the car, and once he does Bucky starts talking. 

He explains, in stops and starts, how he’d gotten involved with  _ HYDRA,  _ a not very well kept secret, secret society at Echidna. How it’d seemed like just a frat that took itself too seriously at first. How he’d gotten, if not comfortable, complacent with it. It’d seemed mostly harmless, and being a HYDRA alum was supposedly one of those things that would open doors after college was over. 

And then, Bucky tells him, it turned a little less harmless. Rituals and spellwork to help their grades, to make them more charming, for luck in the big game- all things that while ethically questionable were more or less harmless- turned into something else, something much, much darker. 

“It was like once you were upperclassmen you got to see all the terrible shit finally,” Bucky says, one hand on the steering wheel, the other tugging fretfully at his hair. “Once I realized the kind of stuff they were  _ really  _ doing, I tried to quit, but I guess you don’t just  _ leave  _ HYDRA. Especially when what you are contributes  _ oh so much.”  _

By this point they’ve pulled up out front of Steve and Sam’s apartment, and Bucky pulls out a bundle of cloth, unwrapping it to reveal a gleaming horn, cracked and broken at the bottom, but still undeniably magical. 

“They tried to take it from me.” Something in his voice is brittle- distant, even- and Steve shifts closer in the car, wrapping his hands over Bucky’s. “I hoped that maybe if I ran they wouldn’t follow. I mean, it wasn’t a sure thing. I know them. I know how… Fucked up, I guess, they are. But I’m not- I’m just one fucking unicorn. It was a long shot but I thought _maybe_ they wouldn’t bother to chase me across the country. And then that night in the woods- I knew they knew I was here, but I guess I convinced myself it was a fluke.” 

It all makes sense in a terrible, horrifying, gut churning sort of way. A unicorn’s magic is pretty fucking incredible, but if you can’t get a unicorn on your side- a thing that can be pretty difficult if your side happens to be, well, morally bankrupt, to say the least, then their horn holds enough magic to do… well to do a whole fucking  _ lot,  _ and they’re worth more than their weight in gold. Hell, they’re probably worth more than a whole unicorn’s weight in gold. And that doesn’t take into account all the other bits of a unicorn that can be sold off. 

It’s wrong to hunt them. Hell it’s beyond wrong, it’s highly fucking illegal, but that doesn’t mean they don’t turn up dead all the time. There will always be people willing to bend the rules to get power, or to get money from the people who want power. Hell, get enough magic on your side and you no longer need to find ways around the law, you become the law. 

“So what- They thought that they could just  _ take  _ your magic?” Steve is so angry he feels like he’s shaking with it- so furious that his muscles and bones ache with the urge to shift. 

“It just takes a unicorn, a ritual and a little bit of unicorn murder,” Bucky says in a tone that’s striving for lightness and coming about two miles short of it, shrugging his shoulders helplessly. 

“They were just going to _sacrifice you._ For what? Better scores on their finals? World domination? Wait- Wait- So have you been weird this entire year because you’ve been hiding out from some crazy secret society?” It’s maybe a self centered question to ask, but it _makes_ _sense,_ and, in Steve’s defense, it gets a laugh and a rueful grin out of Bucky. 

“Steve, if you had announced I was your mate at literally any other time of my life I probably would have jumped on it. I just… I couldn’t trust it right away, you know? The timing seemed … too convenient. I had to be sure.” 

“That I wasn’t trying to trick you.” 

“Yeah,” Bucky says, grimacing and somehow apologetic about the fact that he’s been worrying about _his_ _life_ this whole year, “Sorry.” 

Steve takes hold of the front of Bucky’s shirt, pulls him in and kisses him. 

When he pulls back, Bucky looks a little pleased and pink around the edges. 

“I don’t care,” Steve says, pressing one more light kiss to Bucky’s lips, “You had every right to be cautious. Now that I know though, I can help and we can figure out what to do now that they know you’re here. Together.”  _ Like mates,  _ Steve’s brain finishes for him, but it seems a little sappy and overly werewolf-y to say it out loud. 

Sam seems a little peeved by the development of Bucky and Steve showing up at the apartment with a bag of Bucky’s stuff. Or at least he does for all of 10 minutes before Steve gives him an abridged bullet points summary of the situation. Once he’s caught up, Sam calls Natasha and Sharon over. 

Natasha needs only to look at Bucky, curled up into the corner of the couch with Steve tucked around him from behind, before she’s giving Sharon a rundown. 

“Natasha already knew most of it,” Bucky elaborates, patting at Steve’s hands where they’re clasped over Bucky’s stomach, answering the question Steve hadn’t yet voiced but wanted to, “Our families have known each other a  _ long  _ time.” 

When Sharon has gotten the full story, with Bucky chiming in to fill in the full details Natasha  _ doesn’t  _ have (though she has an almost terrifying knowledge of it all), she turns to Steve and Bucky. “And here I thought senior year might end up  _ boring.”  _

“With us?” Steve asks, all feigned shock, “ _ Never.”  _

“This is why you don’t join secret societies, James,” Natasha says, wandering into Steve and Sam’s kitchen and then reappearing again with a bag of chips like she lives there. 

“I refuse to be judged in my own home,” Bucky says with an indignant sniff. 

“This absolutely isn’t your home, Barnes,” Sam says. 

“I refuse to be judged in my boyfriend’s own home,” Bucky says, and despite the enormity of the current situation, Steve absolutely preens at being called Bucky’s boyfriend. 

  
  


🐺🐺🐺

The pack searches the woods around campus. 

Wanda bitches about unicorns acting like they know how to use magic just because they  _ are  _ magic but casts some protective spells on Sam and Steve’s apartment, annoying their neighbors in the process. 

And even Natasha uses her frankly terrifying social connections to ask around. But in the end they come up short of finding whoever broke into Bucky’s house. 

Well, they know  _ who,  _ as an  _ entity,  _ did it, but it’s not like they can easily track down whatever members of a secret fucking society happened to do it. 

So, for now, they’re left waiting. 

Steve  _ hates it.  _

He wants to be doing something-  _ anything-  _ to make sure Buck’s safe, but there’s not a damned thing he can do right now. 

“How are you so calm?” Steve asks Bucky after the second time Steve’s gotten up to peek out the window, searching for something that’s not there. 

“You’re worrying enough for the both of us,” Bucky says, catching hold of Steve’s hands and dragging him back down into the bed that Steve has very quickly started thinking of as  _ their  _ bed. 

It’s a dangerous game, because when this is all over Bucky will most definitely go back to his own place and Steve will have to get used to thinking of it as  _ just  _ his bed all over again. 

Before he can get morose however, Bucky rolls them over until Steve is underneath him, Bucky perched atop Steve with their hands still clasped together. Like this, with Bucky over him, his hair spilling in waves like a curtain around the both of them, there’s nothing  _ but  _ Bucky that Steve can even contemplate thinking about. 

“I just like you an awful lot,” Steve says, his tone purposefully light, untangling one hand from Bucky’s so that he can curve it over the strong line of Bucky’s jaw, “It’d be pretty upsetting if you got nabbed by a frat boy secret society.” 

“Understandable,” Bucky says, turning his head to kiss the center of Steve’s palm, “I  _ am  _ pretty great. It’d be a shame for the world to lose this face.” 

The kiss sets Steve’s skin alight, which is why he thinks it’s perfectly justified that he maybe sounds a little breathless when he says, “I won’t let that happen. I’m a humanitarian, after all.” 

“Hmm, is that so? I thought you were an art major.” 

“Humanitarian, art major. Jobless tomato, jobless tomahto,” Steve says before he’s giving in to his urge to slide his hand back, back,  _ back,  _ until he can lace his fingers through soft hair and pull Bucky down to kiss him. 

They don’t talk much after that, and Steve’s worries melt- just for a little bit- as easily as he melts for Bucky. 

🐺🐺🐺

While Steve is personally delighted to have his mate more or less living in his own home, there are other parties that are  _ not  _ quite as keen on the situation. 

Those parties being one Samuel Wilson: the very best friend Steve has ever had, and also his roommate. 

“Your hair is a disgusting lump on the wall in the shower.  _ Again _ ,” Sam gripes for possibly the 12th time in the last week as he pours himself a bowl of overly sugary cereal and glares a hole into the back of Bucky’s head where Bucky is half asleep in a textbook. 

“You’re the dog here, maybe it’s not mine and is because you’re shedding,” Bucky replies, though Steve’s sure it’s only by rote at this point and is lacking any of the heat that might lead to an actual argument. 

Sam and Bucky’s relationship  _ seems  _ to be a friendship, but it seems to be a friendship based on mutual disdain and bickering. 

“I’m sorry Barnes, I’m not the one with Rapunzel-esque locks, so it’s definitely not me,” 

“You think I have Rapunzel-esque hair?” Bucky asks, seeming to perk up dramatically and flicking said hair over his shoulder. “I’m touched. Truly.  _ Deeply. _ ”

“I hate you,” Sam says, and Steve would be offended on Bucky’s behalf, but it’s said with the sort of heat that Sam uses when he tells his sister’s dog it’s an asshole, so he sincerely doubts Sam is in any way shape or form serious about it. 

“I hate you more,” Bucky sing-songs as Sam takes his bowl of cereal and disappears back into his room. 

“You two have an incredibly weird friendship,” Steve tells Bucky seriously. 

“We’re mortal enemies, Steven,” Bucky says, just as seriously. 

“Right. Right. That’s why when there was only one bowl left of your favorite cereal you left it for Sam this morning. I’m sure that’s born of true and deep hatred.” 

“Aren’t you supposed to agree with me?” Bucky asks, tipping backward in his chair and twisting around to look at Steve judgmentally, “I thought that was how this mate thing worked.” 

“Nope,” Steve says, popping the p, sliding off his perch on their little kitchenette counter and smacking a kiss to Bucky’s cheek. “Sorry. I think my duty as your werewolf mate mostly just consists of making out, some light stalking, and also informing you when you’re going to be late to class. Which you currently are.” 

“ _ Shit,”  _ Bucky says, checking his phone, and then, “Shit. Shit.  _ Shit. Why did I take an early class?”  _ As he grabs his things and shoves his hair up into a sloppy bun, and then disappears out the front door like a whirlwind. 

Steve, despite himself, feels  _ very  _ fond. 

🐺🐺🐺

It’s easy to slip up. 

To get lulled into a sense of false security. 

For days, and then weeks to pass by with nothing in the way of danger jumping out at them that by the time the end of April is rolling around and the flowers are in bloom and the start of finals cramming is abuzz everything that transpired- everything Steve found out- on Valentine’s Day feels a little less dire. 

For Steve to start to pay just the littlest bit less attention. 

Which is, of course, when he gets fucking  _ snatched  _ while walking to his job at the coffee shop _.  _

When he comes to his head hurts like a motherfucker, and his shoulders ache where his arms are wrenched behind his back, his wrists tied together with rope that burns like a bitch when he tries to wiggle around in it in an attempt to escape. 

“Fucking wolfsbane in the rope? What, scared of what I’ll do to you if I get out of these?” Steve asks, catching the attention of the two absolute frat boy looking douchebags sitting a few feet away playing cards. 

“I knew we should have muzzled him,” Frat Boy A- an asshole with a backwards snapback and a tank top that unironically says ‘SUNS OUT GUNS OUT’, tells Frat Boy B- an asshole with a truly unfortunate buzzcut and sunglasses on despite the fact that they’re in the middle of the woods where it’s shaded.

“Shouldn’t you guys be preparing for finals? At your own school?” Steve asks, shifting as subtly as he can manage against the tree his back is pressed to, attempting to use that to somehow get out of the rope. “Or like, I don’t know, getting ready for a kegger?  _ Also _ at your own school? Literally anything other than kidnapping me and tying me up in the woods? Because I  _ do  _ have finals to prepare for and this is really fucking with my study schedule.” 

“Don’t worry about your finals. You’ll be dead long before then,” Frat Boy A says. 

“Oh. Good. That’s one less stressor I guess,” Steve says, absolutely and entirely not willing to let on even a little bit that okay, yeah, this whole situation is kind of terrifying. Steve does  _ not  _ want to die. “So what’s the plan? Why kidnap me, in particular? General hatred for werewolves? I know that’s a big one for some people. Nah, if it was that you woulda killed me outright. You wouldn’t bother tying me up. Ohhh. I’m bait aren’t I? For Bucky.” 

Frat Boy A is apparently the smarter of the two, so he doesn’t give much away, but judging by the look on Frat Boy B’s face, Steve’s hit the mark. Granted, it was less of a mark and more of a blindingly obvious neon sign, but  _ still.  _

“It’s not just to the two of you is it?” Steve asks, “Because- I mean, we  _ do  _ have friends, and it’d be kind of sad for you both if they wiped the floor with you just cause you’re outnumbered. On the other hand, it might be even worse if there’s more of you and you two are just the grunts stuck watching one lousy werewolf.” Frat Boy B makes another face, which is telling, and also probably part of the reason he’s apparently stuck doing grunt work. “Oh man, that really sucks for you guys. I’d hate to realize I was at the bottom of my friend group too. Or I guess in this case, weird murderous secret society.” 

“I’m gonna kill him man. I know we’re not supposed to, but I think just this once it’ll be fine.” Frat Boy B says, which okay, is suboptimal. 

“We can’t fucking kill him, idiot,” Frat Boy A says, “How do you think you end up like fucking Barnes?” 

“I don’t care man, I don’t fucking  _ care,”  _ Frat Boy B responds, throwing himself towards Steve with- oh fuck that’s a  _ knife.  _

Steve grits his teeth and, with a minor shift in form- even though growing fucking claws isn’t exactly  _ pleasant _ \- claws through the ropes around him and throws himself to the side. 

There’s a reason that most werewolves aren’t particularly keen on shifting outside of when they’re forced to on the full moon, even for minor shifts like claws or teeth or whatever, and that’s that it hurts like a fucking bitch. Steve guesses they wouldn’t call lycanthropy a curse if it was a walk in the park, but goddamn do his hands ache.

“Bringing a knife to a claw fight feels a little unfair, dude,” Steve says as he comes up swinging at Frat Boy B. 

Steve hears his name called from somewhere beyond the trees and it’s enough of a distraction that Frat Boy B gets him between the ribs with the knife, which is about the time when people spill into the woods and all hell breaks loose. 

_ So this is what it feels like to be stabbed,  _ he thinks. 

And  _ oh, how did I end up on the ground?  _ as he blinks up at the canopy of treelimbs above him.

And also,  _ holy shit that hurts.  _

It hurts like an absolute son of a bitch, and it’s not healing like a knife wound should, which is worrying, and probably means there was silver involved, which is also worrying. 

Steve turns his head towards the chaos and blinks at the sight in front of him. Or, well, to the side of him he guesses. 

His friends are there, but there’s also a shitton of people Steve doesn’t know- frat bro looking motherfuckers with an ominous energy. No wonder HYDRA sucks at the secret part of secret society. There’s too many of them. 

One has a book and seems to be chanting something, and one’s caught Sharon by the hair, and another has Bucky and Steve- Steve needs to  _ help.  _

He tries to push himself up, but his arms feel like jelly, and the trees around him are spinning, and his head feels a little like it’s a balloon. None of this points to anything good when it comes to how much blood might be left inside of Steve’s body. 

A frat bro makes a horrified noise and Steve blinks his eyes open (huh, when did he close his eyes?) to see that Natasha is there, large, and scaly, and shining red.

If it were possible for someone to smirk while in their dragon form, Steve would swear that Natasha is smirking. But as it is, she seems to exchange a look with Bucky, who jerks himself away from the frat bro who has hold of him and throws himself to side as Natasha opens her mouth and roasts the asshole. 

Steve should feel bad about what must be a very traumatic end, but also the guy had a hold of Bucky so that HYDRA could sacrifice him so like, maybe he shouldn’t. 

After that everything seems to go quickly. Or maybe it doesn’t, and Steve just loses track of time. 

Either way, the next thing Steve takes notice of is Sharon somewhere seemingly far off saying “Fucking a, the knife was silver,” and then Bucky’s voice saying, “Hi, no, please- god, please don’t go-” suddenly beside him and everything- it feels sort of fuzzy but Bucky’s voice is choked and he sounds so terribly, terribly sad that Steve wants desperately to fix it. 

“Hey, don’t- don’t be upset,” Steve says, reaching up to touch Bucky’s cheek. His cheeks are wet with tears and Steve thinks maybe it’s the blood loss but they seem to be glowing, shining with a silver-blue light where Steve gathers them on his fingertips. 

“I’m- God- You’re okay, okay? You can’t bail on me now, Rogers. You  _ can’t _ . I’m so fuckin sorry I got you into this mess. I love you and now- You never should have been-” 

“You love me?” Steve asks. 

“ _ That’s  _ what you’re focusing on?” Bucky asks, tipping his head down until their foreheads are touching. “You were  _ stabbed.  _ You could- You’re such a fucking  _ idiot _ .” 

“That’s a little rude,” Steve says, and god, he’s  _ so tired,  _ but Bucky’s right there, and Bucky  _ loves him,  _ and he’s  _ crying,  _ tears that land on Steve’s face and- “Hey, don’t unicorn tears-” 

And then the world goes dark. 

When Steve wakes up every inch of him hurts and the antiseptic smell of a hospital makes his nose twitch like he needs to sneeze. 

Also, his mother is there, both her hands wrapped around one of Steve’s while she dozes in a chair pulled up to the side of Steve’s bed.

Which means he’s been out for long enough that his mother flew across the  _ country. Jesus.  _

“Oh thank god, you’re awake,” Sam says and Steve twists, dislodging his hand from his mother’s, to see his best friend sitting on the other side of his bed. 

Steve opens his mouth to speak, makes a terrible croaking noise, takes a drink of the water Sam holds up for him, and then  _ finally,  _ manages to say “You look like shit, man.”

Sam laughs, and some of the tension seems to leak out of him. “Yeah, no thanks to you, asshole. You scared us. If it weren’t for your boy...” 

“I’m sorry,” Steve says, and means it, “I promise I’ll try not to get kidnapped and almost killed again.” 

“I appreciate it,” Sam says and glances past Steve to where Sarah has woken up and is giving Steve a  _ look.  _ “Anyway, I’m gonna give you and your mom a chance to talk. I’ll go let Barnes know you’re awake. We had to force him back to the apartment so that he’d get some rest.” 

And then, with a hug for Steve’s mom, Sam, the  _ traitor,  _ leaves Steve all alone with her.

“I would appreciate it if next time you go up against someone trying to kill your boyfriend, you  _ let me know  _ so that I don’t wake up to a phone call about how my son is in the hospital with a silver wound.” Sarah Rogers says, giving Steve absolutely no time to think that this scenario could go  _ any  _ differently. 

“In my defense, this isn’t even in the like, top five for stupidest things I’ve ever done Ma.”

“Steven Grant Rogers, that is  _ not  _ a good defense.” 

“I know, I know. But I thought we could handle it. And to be fair, we kind of  _ did _ . I ended up okay.  _ Really _ ” Steve says, taking his mom’s hand in his own and giving it a squeeze. 

“Yes, because your boyfriend happens to be a unicorn whose tears healed you enough that you didn’t bleed out in the middle of the woods before they could get you to a hospital.” Steve’s mom says firmly, and then she takes a deep breath and heaves a great big, blustery sigh. The sort of sigh that means she, like Steve has to do so often as well, is reminding herself to be patient. She relaxes, after a moment, the spring coil of tension she’d been holding herself in melting as she smooths a hand through Steve’s hair, “I’m so glad you’re okay, sweetheart, and proud of you-  _ but _ I  _ really _ wish you weren’t too old for me to ground you for eternity.” 

“If it helps any I’ll pretend it’s possible,” Steve offers. 

“It does, thank you. Now, tell me all about this boy of yours. The way he was looking at you when I got here makes me think there’s been some developments since Christmas...” 

Later, when Steve has been discharged from the hospital, his friends have all trickled out of his and Sam’s apartment, and his mother is sound asleep on his couch, Steve lays tangled up with Bucky in his bed. 

The moon lights Bucky up like he’s Steve’s very own constellation, his hair spilling across their shared pillow, their faces very close. 

“ _ Oh _ ,” Steve says, like he’s remembering something, twisting a strand of Bucky’s hair around his fingertips absently. 

“Mmh?” Bucky hums, his eyes half closed. He looks tired, with shadows beneath his eyes, and earlier he told Steve that he was sure Steve was going to give him a gray hair from worry. 

“I forgot to tell you before I passed out.” 

“What?” 

“I love you too.” 

🐺🐺🐺

Finals pass and graduation rolls around, and while Steve’s not sure he’ll remember walking across a stage in a graduation gown he knows for a fact that the sight of Bucky in his suit after it all will remain in his mind for many, many years to come. 

After, they all take one last camping trip. 

“I don’t think I ever want to see the woods again,” Steve says, complaining only for the sake of it. 

“Shut up Rogers, you love it here,” Bucky says, looping his arms around Steve’s waist and dragging him down onto the seat next to him. 

The sun has long since set and the fire is burning bright and when Steve glances around, at his friends, at Sharon and Nat discussing something in low voices while roasting marshmallows and Thor attempting to shove an entire s’more at Loki’s face, at Sam, who catches his eye and grins back at him, he thinks that okay, well, it’s not  _ that  _ bad. 

“I guess it has its charms,” Steve relents. 

“More charms than you, that’s for sure,” Bucky teases.

“Asshole,” Steve says, shoving at Bucky without any force. 

Adulthood, real actual adulthood without the shelter of college, is right around the corner and even after the year he’s had, after nearly fucking dying and then having to talk to police and then news reporters when they’d caught wind of a magical collegiate secret society murder scandal going on, even after all of that it still feels a little like he’s diving headfirst into the unknown. 

“You’re thinking again, that’s bad for you,” Bucky smooths his thumb over the little crease between Steve’s eyebrows then follows it with his mouth, pressing a featherlight kiss to the skin, “And you should get used to the wilderness, city slicker. Remember, we’re gonna be sleeping under the stars at the Grand Canyon.” 

“I didn’t agree to any outdoor sleeping on the road trip, Buck,” Steve says, because while he’s pretty enthusiastic about the idea of the two of them on a sort of one last hurrah road trip before Bucky starts grad school and Steve starts… whatever he’s going to start with a goddamn art degree, he absolutely did not agree to anything even close to roughing it. Werewolf or not, his spine does not agree with sleeping on the ground. “Also, the city slicker thing doesn’t work when you’re literally from Brooklyn too.” 

“I’m a unicorn Steve, that means I’m practically part horse. I run wild and free. No city can keep me.” 

“Ohhhh, right. Of course. Of course,” Steve says, “And me?” 

“Hmm?” 

“Can I keep you?” 

Bucky hums out a considering noise, tilting his head this way and that, really making a show of considering it before he finally heaves a dramatic, put upon sigh. “I guess I wouldn’t mind if you do,” He says, leaning in close, their foreheads pressed together. “You’re pretty easy on the eyes. And you’re good in bed. Plus you’ve got that whole devoted werewolf soulmate thing going for you, so I  _ guess.”  _

“Right. It’s just my good looks and my sexual prowess that makes you want me around. I guess I could go find a new werewolf soulmate. I mean, I don’t think it’s possible, but you never kn-” 

Bucky cuts Steve off by dragging him into a kiss, and Steve laughs against his mouth, feeling a little bit like Bucky is a balloon, tucked just under his ribs that could carry him away. 

And the future is ahead of them, something big and unsure, the same way the future is always huge and unsure, no matter how old you get (though they’re both maybe too young to have realized the part where it never really gets any clearer), but he knows he has Bucky, and really, that’s the part that matters.

**Author's Note:**

> This isn't as edited as it should be and I absolutely did not edit the second part of this at all, because of uh, *waves vaguely at the world and also depression*, but it's my prerogative to post an unedited fic and then maybe possibly hopefully probably edit it later. 
> 
> A note on the university names: In Greek mythology, Asteria is the daughter of Titans, and the mother of Hecate- the goddess of magic/witchcraft. Echidna was a half human, half snake who was the mother of many monsters in Greek myth, including the Lernaean Hydra. 
> 
> If you wanna come scream with me about like, Captain America and also the state of the world right now, come hit me up @attackofthezee on twitter.


End file.
